The Lists
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: Based off of whatladybird on tumblr's posts: (/post/35139304462/companion-to-this-list) and (/post/34649089395/poems-for-october-30)
1. A List of Rules, Established as I Go

**A/N: **I own nothing. Not even the concept of this story. As I said in the description, they belong to whatladybird on tumblr. All I own is the little drabbles themselves connected to each bullet point. Enjoy! ~

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_1. Personal space; he is not comfortable with study of the intricacies of his face._

Personal space is something you'd always struggled with around Dean. His face told stories of the years of hardship he'd seen, even after you'd rebuilt his body without all it's old scars. There were new ones now – a few around his lips, a gash on his eyebrow, one on the edge of his jaw. The lines on his face wrote out a story of loss, in the sad downwards lines around his eyes, and the surprisingly well-worn creases in his cheeks, visible during his rare, hard won, but beautiful smiles. His eyes were pure green, lit up from the inside, and his suntanned face was dotted with freckles.

He was beautiful, and you wanted to study him, learn the stories you knew he'd never tell you. But every time he caught you looking, he muttered something harsh about 'creepy staring, man', and you'd have to look away.

_2. When he laughs at you, don't take it to heart._

In the alleyway, after you'd told the stripper about her father, Dean burst out laughing. It hurt a little, him laughing at your confusion and mistakes, but you knew he didn't mean it, not really. And it was good to hear him laugh, to say the least.

_3. Don't insult his car._

The Impala was Dean's love, and possibly ranked _with _family in his heart. He was almost as protective of her as he was of Sam. He'd rebuilt her from nothing, and took care of her like a proud father. Sometimes, you wondered just how many miles where on the car, since he turned back the number every time he rebuilt her.

Anyone who dared insinuate that she was too old for road travel ended up on Dean's bad side, and that wasn't a place that you wanted to be.

_4. Or his music_

Dean's music was important to him. Very important. He cranked it up too loud and sang louder while they were driving, something you only got to witness the few times you were forced to drive with them instead of flying where you needed to be. You liked watching him sing – the open emotion on his face was refreshing, despite the fact that it was stolen.

_5. Or the way he eats._

He was not what one would call an 'attractive eater' in the slightest, even you knew that. He tended to stuff his face and talk around mouthfulls every time he ate. You knew why he did it, because he was so used to going without, so you never said anything. But you watched as others did, mostly Sam, and you watched his reactions. Usually he'd make a strange face of some sort to 'gross them out', but in the midst of it all you could see a flash of _something_.

_6. When he talks about things you don't understand, don't ask, just nod._

You'd missed a reference, you knew. Dean made them so often, it was hard to keep up. You really were trying, but as soon as you got the hang of _Star Wars _or _Lord of the Rings_ he'd come out with something new like _Star Trek_ (which was infinitely different from _Star Wars_, you now knew) or _Doctor Sexy._

You'd learnt to stop asking for clarification, to just nod like you understood, but Dean knew you almost as well as you knew him and he could always just _tell_ when you were confused.

Mercifully he'd stopped pointing it out.

_7. Don't watch him without his knowing._

Even in sleep, Dean kept his guard up. He slept lightly, with his face twisted into an expression similar to pain. It smoothed out when (if) he reached deep sleep but there was still obvious tension in the lines of his eyes and the set of his jaw.

In the early days, when he caught you watching him sleep, he'd wake up fully and jump a little before exclaiming something about how you shouldn't do that; it was weird. Now, though, when he felt your eyes on him, he'd just crack an eye open, murmur something about how it was kinda 'creepin' him out', and then he'd turn over and fall back asleep.

You could tell that it still unnerved him, though you could no longer tell if it was the watching or the obvious reminder that you weren't human.

_8. Don't touch his lips._

You're not sure what makes you do it. Your eyes lock, but that isn't something new, and neither of you look away for a long while. Seconds stretch and all of a sudden your hand is there, fingertips grazing his lips. He jerks his head back and steps away, looking anywhere but at you, and your hand is left hovering in the air for a second before it drops back to your side and you look down, face hot.

A dim part in the back of your mind notes that this much be what shame feels like. You don't like it.

_9. Don't touch the lines around his eyes. (Note: knowledge not gained from personal experience, merely based on observed behaviour). _

Dean was sensitive about the fact that he was ageing. He was in very good physical shape due to the hunting, of course, but he _was_ ageing. He pretended not to feel that he was getting slower, weaker, and you let him, stepping in only when you needed to so he wouldn't feel emasculated.

The most obvious physical reminder of his age where the lines around his eyes. He was sensitive about those, and from what you'd learnt about touching his lips, you knew he wouldn't appreciate it. Even if you did wonder what they'd feel like under your fingers.

_10. Don't read his mind._

He valued privacy. Especially in his own mind. Dean had so many secrets that if he knew the extent of what you'd already seen, you knew you'd be in trouble.

"Fuck, Cas," he'd muttered after you'd replied to something he hadn't said out loud. "You can't just _do_ that, man! There's some shit in there I don't want anyone to see." And you wonder what, exactly, that could be – his time in Hell? Because you were there, too. What could there possibly be in his mind that's worse than that? You want to ask but you don't, you want to push but you don't, you want to read his mind again and just _see_, but you don't do that, either. You let it be, because that's what he asked.

_11. Don't mention:_

_1. His mother._

"She would have been proud of you, you know," You tell him quietly one day after he lowered his walls a little and told you some of how he felt.

He'd stiffened and retreated back into his fortress, taking a sip of beer and making a joke about something you didn't quite understand.

_2. His father._

"He had beautiful handwriting," you tell him one day, and his breath hitches slightly before he responds.

_3. God._

"I'm on the hunt for God," you say proudly with a small smile, and his whole body freezes in place for a second, like someone hit _pause_ on him, before he starts moving again.

_4. Especially God._

"What kind of _all-loving, benevolent _God would make this hell hole my life?" he exclaims suddenly. "Does he think this is funny? Does he expect me to just sit by and accepted it as 'fate' while he kills everyone I care about?"

You don't know how to answer that.

_12. Control yourself._

The temptation is there, every time you stand too close, to lean forwards _just a little_. To just reach out and _take _what you've wanted for so long – even if you still don't know what, exactly, it is you want. You never do, but you think about it. A lot. Probably too much.

_13. __What's so important about him? Why is he so important to you? __CONTROL YOURSELF._

He was just a human. Just a flawed human. (A perfect, self-sacrifcing human with a hero complex who was never taught that he was worth something – but that wasn't he point; he was _human_). What made him different than everyone else? Nothing! Or, that's what you told yourself. There was something else there, behind his eyes. You'd called it a profound bond, once. But it was more than that – more complicated and so much simpler at the same time.

It leaves you breathless, feels like your lungs have been ripped out of your chest, which really is strange because you're an angel and shouldn't feel things like this. You ignore the feeling – or, try to, at least – and move on.

_14. Reminder: it's alright that he hates you as long as you can still keep him safe._

Everything you'd done, you'd done thinking it was the right thing. The best thing; the only option at the time. But that's what they say, isn't it? The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. That was a more accurate statement to the current state of affairs than it should have been. Dean was angry with you – rightfully so, too – but there was nothing you could do about it. There was nothing you could say or do that would make it better.

And so you stayed away. Watched him silently, invisible, watching over him even though you couldn't show yourself. It hurt to watch him without being able to interact, but it was the price you had to pay.

It was your penance.

_15. Every time he smiles at you, it's worth it._

His smiles were hard to come by and, after the life he'd lead, it wasn't really surprising. But _every single time_ he smiled, whether at you or someone else, you felt something warm and bright deep inside of you, and it made everything – all the betrayal, the heartache, everything you'd done to each other – worth it.

_16. Every time he touches you, it's worth it._

Dean wasn't a very tactile person. Or, at least, you hadn't thought so. But sometimes his hand would brush yours, or he'd clasp your shoulder, squeezing tightly before letting go, and you could almost feel his touch even after it was gone. It seared through your clothes and into your skin, right into the core of you, and everything you'd done to earn it was worth the pain.

_17. Don't touch him._

Though he wouldn't admit it, he was timid when it came to physical contact. Either he initiated it, or nothing. Sometimes, you'd reach up to touch his shoulder, and then your hand would freeze midair – an aborted motion – as you remembered him jerking away from you, and then it would just fall back limply to your side and you'd both continue as if you hadn't noticed.

_18. Don't tell him._

Your eyes hold his and neither of you look away, or even breathe, and you think that _this moment, right now_ is the time to tell him. But you can't. The fear of rejection is too great. You'd rather have him as only your friend than nothing at all, so you swallow the words as Sam clears his throat awkwardly behind you, and Dean looks away.

_19. Don't tell him._

Later, after Sam leaves and it's just you, Dean, and all the mistakes you've made, he starts to talk without looking you in the eye.

"Cas," he starts, but his voice comes out wrong so he clears his throat and tries again. "Cas, buddy, we need to talk."

"Yes," you agree, and you want to tell him, but you can't. Not yet; it isn't the right time. "I'm sorry," you tell him instead, voice hushed.

_20. Don't tell him._

He sighs and runs his hands over his short hair. "You're always sorry. That doesn't make it better."

"I know." You can't look at him. Not when all that's running through your mind is three short words that have somehow managed to string themselves into one never-ending phrase, playing on repeat in your head, pounding against the inside of your skull. Bouncing around and ricocheting and trying to escape your sealed lips and clenched teeth.

"God, Cas," he mutters. "I just... I don't know what to do about you anymore."

And you can't answer because you're worried about what you might say, what might come out, and you _can't tell him_. He doesn't feel the same – can't feel the same. You'd done so much wrong...

He watches you, waiting for an answer, but then he seems to realize that you're not gonna give him one and he chuckles humorlessly. "Yeah. Good talk."

His back is already turned and he's already walking away and you're feeling desperate and you open your mouth and the words that had nestled behind your teeth slip out and over your tongue and before you realize what's happening you're secret is out there and he's turning back to look at you.


	2. Remember

_1. When you want to touch him, keep it to the shoulder – shoulder's are safe._

Touching was dangerous. It felt like you'd dipped your hand in fire and ice, assaulted your senses until it was just _him_. You didn't touch him unless you needed to, not that you didn't want to, and when you did you kept it firmly to his shoulders. Fairly non-sexual and covered in layers – safe.

At least they were until your thumb brushed against the bare skin of this throat and you try not to yank your hand away too quickly, try not to let on how affected you were.

_2. Don't piss him off – REMEMBER THE ALLEY._

His breath is hot on your face as he grabs your lapels and pushes you up against the brick wall, not an inch of space between your bodies as you press together, and a sense of cold fear drips down your spine. You can see all the heavenly wrath boiling behind his eyes and you're worried that he'll smite you right then and there.

_3. Actually no don't think about the alley._

He's everywhere around you, you can practically taste him on your tongue. His knuckles brush against your collar bone and it feels like electricity in your bones and you can't help the way your stomach starts to turn in a very, _very_ good way. Before you know what's going on, he's let you go again, and you slump against the wall for a moment and try to remember how to breathe.

_4. Don't think about any of the times he got that close to you._

It was just the way he was – just Cas. He stood too close without realizing it. You were used to it, or so you thought. But when he's just _standing there_, the centre of his chest pressed against your arm as he breathes against your neck, you can't help but shiver slightly despite your three layers of clothing.

You don't admit it out loud but you know that it's got nothing to do with the temperature.

_5. I said DON'T THINK ABOUT IT GODDAMMIT._

Sometimes you let yourself wonder if he does it on purpose. If he knows, and he's trying to make you take a hint. But you're not that lucky and so when he poofs in so close you can feel his coat tails brush against you, you don't even let yourself hope. You squash it down and pause a second, relishing in the closeness, before throwing up your walls and jumping away. "Dammit, Cas!"

_6. Yes his tie is backwards but it's not your job to fix it._

You can't even look at him. His tie is crooked – when isn't it? - and you're barely fighting the urge to reach out and fix it. But you know if you don't you won't be able to stop yourself from just wrapping your fist around it and – you cut that train off thought off before it gets too far, already trying to hide your obvious attraction.

Taking a deep breath, you reach up and fix it, standing there on the curb with him. "Because when humans want something very much," you explain with a tight smile. You're done with the tie but you don't want to stop touching his just yet so you smooth down his lapels and put your hands on his shoulders before letting go and finishing your first thought, "they lie."

_7. It's not your job to take care of him he's an angel he can take care of himself._

He looked so weak as he stumbled into the motel room, one hand braced against the wall to hold himself up and the other pressed hard into his side, as if it was trying to stop the bleeding. You can almost see bright tendrils of light reaching out, but then he stumbles again and you're jerked back to reality and you rush to his side – the one that Sam's not already got a hold on – and try to hold him up. Sam moves out of the way when you get there, letting you touch more of Cas.

You try not to think about what that implies Sam knows. Cas needs you right now and this – injuries, blood, pain – is something you can fix.

_8. Shit he's an angel you are going to hell._

It is not beyond your notice that he's an angel, that the body he's inhabiting isn't even his own. He's a freaking _Angel of the Lord_. Lusting after him – and you try to tell yourself that's all it is, because lust is something you understand, something you can deal with – has gotta be a one-way ticket downstairs. That's major blasphemy, isn't it? Practically the definition of the word, so much worse than your drinking and cursing and pre-marital sex.

_9. Again._

And wouldn't it be ironic that after Cas 'gripped you tight and raised you from perdition' it was because of him you ended up back in the hotbox?

_10. Fuck._

Even you know that he'd have a problem with that. He spent so long, worked so hard, to pull you – the Righteous Man – out of Hell. After everything, you know that at the very least he doesn't want you back there.

_11. What would dad say?_

Your memory of your dad had started to fade but there were things you knew you'd never forget, like how he smelt of gunpowder and leather or how you'd turn all his anger onto you so that Sammy would never have to know.

One thing that was seared into your being, into the core nerve centre of your brain, was his black and white view of the world. Everything 'not human' was evil. What would he think if he met the angels? If he met Cas?

You think that the grey area might have consumed him.

_12. What would Sam say?_

Sam is observant. Scarily smart, too. You bet he already has an idea how you feel – s'not like you ever really made an effort to hide it. So long as Cas never knew, it didn't matter. Not really. But you still worried what Sam thought – because that's what it always boiled down to. You need your little brother's approval in this, but you'll never ask. You don't know what you'd do if somehow he found out and _wasn't _okay with it.

So for now it's your little secret and you guard it as one of the closest to your chest, your heart, and you don't let anyone see.

_13. Fuck fuck fuck shit goddammit fuck_

You're so _screwed_. You haven't even had a hook up in a year because there's only _him_ on your mind. Your half-hearted attempts at flirting with strangers go rejected, and you don't feel as defeated as you used to because you didn't _actually _want to go home with them anyway. After every failed attempt, you go back to the motel room, drink a beer, watch crap TV, and if sometimes you think about calling Cas down to keep you company then that's you're little secret.

_14. __Why would he want you? What could he possibly see in you?_

Just when you were finally, finally starting to see a light at the end of this tunnel it hit you like a ton of bricks. You're worthless, you're selfish, you're nothing – what could an _angel_ want with _you_?

That realization ends with a shattered bottle of Jack Daniels, a few empties scattered around the floor, and 200$ in propriety damage that you never ended up paying.

_15. __What if he doesn't feel the_

In the middle of a normal conversation about the monster-of-the-week you're fighting, a thought suddenly pops into your head, an unwanted but quiet guest that just creeped in through the window and sat down to dinner that no one noticed 'till dessert was on the table.

The thought that you should probably tell him just exactly why it's getting harder and harder for you to tear your eyes from his lips is all consuming, but with an awkward, jilted movement you stuff that thought _down, down, down_ and try not to think of it again. Because for just one moment you had hope.

And, really, when had 'hope' ever been right?

_16. Man up Winchester just because you're in love with a dude doesn't mean you have to act like a girl._

There, you'd said it. Well, thought it, at least, but that was one step up from where you were before – trying to play it off as just lust, pent up sexual frustration. Which was a dumb idea because when was that ever the case? When was anything ever 'just' what it was with Cas?

Didn't mean it had to turn your life into a chick flick.

_17. Shit._

Your life was definitely turning into a chick flick. A rom-com without the 'com'. Or the 'rom' for that matter. Just a clusterfuck of miscommunication and heartbreak that shouldn't've happened because your heart shouldn't have been able to be broken by him.

_18. __Don't__Please__You're__ FUCK_

There are lights falling from the sky and for one brief, insane second you think to yourself that you'd never seen a falling star before and then you realize that it's the angels and they're burning up in the stratosphere and you have no idea where Cas is and _holy fuck if he's – _you stop that thought in it's tracks because you can't be distracted by that right now. Cas is fine – he's always fine – and Sammy needs your attention right now, pulling your focus back to earth as he retches again.

_19. If you ever see him again, kiss him._

It's been weeks and you haven't seen or heard from him. Sam's on the mend, so you don't have anything to distract yourself with anymore. Your solution? Drive.

You drive for hours, twisting paths that always lead back to the bunker – back home. Because you have a home now, and you just hope that Cas'll show up soon to share it with you.

You promise yourself something while sitting in the front seat of the Impala and driving down dusty road – and isn't that something? One of the most important decisions of your life, and you make it where you've spent it all up 'till now, in hopes of being able to have a home without four wheels and a family that isn't always on the verge of disaster. You can't hold it in any longer; you have to know what he feels like, what he tastes like, even if it's just for a second and then he's gone forever.

You try not to think of how you'll feel if he's gone forever. Try not to think of how likely a possibility that actually is.

_20. If you ever see him again, tell him._

You don't keep your promise when he shows up at the bunker _that night_, bloody and broken and confused and _human_. After everything, you can't put him through more, so you make him shower and give him a pair of your pyjamas and shove him into the guest room that was already set up for him and you make yourself another promise. One for morning light, or whenever he wakes up.

You didn't count on starting an argument on his first day home – because you already think of this as his home, whether or not he does. You didn't count on trying to walk away. You didn't count the words that tumbled out of his mouth, tripping him up. You didn't count on any of it and before you could reply your hands were already grabbing at his clothes and pulling him towards you, no time for you to keep your second promise but you'd be damned if the first one would go to waste now.


End file.
